


Challenging the Storm

by Tavadriel



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: BDSM, Cock Rings, Elves, Exhibitionism, Headcanon, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Tag Suggestions Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tavadriel/pseuds/Tavadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Calavel got that fur blanket. Or, self appointed morale officer. More headcanon.</p>
<p>This may or may not make sense if you haven't read the first Calavel story. It's not a series. (Yet.)</p>
<p>The BDSM here is a bit odd; I guess you could call it one-sided. It is entirely consensual.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: all rights reserved to Wizards of the Coast and the various writers of the many, many, many gaming books I've used for setting, culture, ideas, and even names. Calavel, however, is all mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenging the Storm

            The winds howled.

            Fighting in winter always had its difficulties. Yet there were enemies, monsters, who didn’t mind the cold, or had no homes to burrow into. The band had tracked this one, this group, waiting the right moment to strike, making camp in a good-sized valley, whose steep sides would protect us from the worst of the weather, should it hit.

            Captain made the decision to hold when the clouds started to blow in. A good decision, proven when the winds started to howl. We were safe in the valley, sheltered from the full brunt of the storm. Our supplies were overfull, with plenty of snow around for water. The storm brought little more into the valley. Waiting it out was the best choice, the right choice; we’d be in the perfect position to strike when it ended, and even have an extra element of surprise. The monsters we fought believed humans to be weak, too weak to stir from walls and towns in the storm season. Their surprise would be total.

            Yet there is a difference between knowing and being. The winds howled unceasingly, day and night, insistent. Mundane concerns, like food, water, shelter, paled before the sound. It curled around the camp like a living thing, probing for weaknesses.

            Two days, three, five.

            There was grumbling, faint, hard to hear over the wind. But present. To break camp would be folly, if not suicide; the closest town way too far to make, exposed to the full power of the storm. And the band was not of the town, and had to pay for its shelter. Running from the enemies we’d been sent, been hired, to fight, would endear no one to us. But as the wind howled, fierce and terrible, what man could ignore it for long?

            It was a week.

            The solidness of the timespan is what convinced me. A week had weight that a number of days did not. Strong as the captain was, as much as the men trusted him, respected him, the storm had its own power. And – and I admit, I was terrified of what I was thinking. But it was a warming terror, a live thing coiling up inside me, a soft whisper of possibilities, of imagings, in counterpoint to the storm around us.

            After the morning meal had been cleared away, but before the lieutenants began practice, was the time I chose. I took off all my clothes, everything, from armor to undergarments, neatly folding them into a pile beside my weapons in a corner, my pack still in my tent. It was cool, but not too badly so; the carefully tended cooking fire and well-crafted canvas kept the pavilion-tent comfortable. I took a deep breath.

            I walked to the center of the tent. The men might not have noticed what I was doing earlier – I wasn’t looking, but could guess at least one or two had – but they couldn’t help but do so now.

            Before I could lose my nerve, laugh and pretend it was a joke, I met Captain’s eyes with my own; for a shared, single instant, we both took in the tent, the gathered men, the still howling winds, everything. Then I turned my gaze to one of the poles holding up the tent, looking at yet  _not_ looking at the men present.

            “I dare you.”

            Out of the corner of my eyes I could see Captain nod, once, before leaving the tent. Part of me had hoped he’d stay; the rest of me, however, understood why.

            Silence, broken only by the winds. My words seemed to echo, over and over, into that quiet-that-was-not-quiet. This was the moment, then, the turning point.

            It seemed like hours passed. I felt small, stupid, weak. Waiting for the lieutenants to call the men to arms, to practice as always, to discard me and my own foolish ideas as I had my clothes. This wasn’t good anticipation – only one side knew, not both.

            But I was what, who, I was. I would offer, but not beg.

            Not now, at least.

            One of the fighters approached me. He was about my height, maybe a few inches taller, dark-eyed and dark-haired. Those dark eyes bored into mine, speaking without words. I did my best to answer with the only word I had.  _Yes_.

            A calloused thumb traced my lips. Bow calluses, as familiar as the dappling of sunlight through the trees. My breath quickened.

            “Let’s see if that mouth of yours can live up to your words.” His own words were sharp, but their tone gentle.

            I knelt on the clean-swept ground. He made no move to help me as I unlaced his breeches, took out his cock. It was mostly soft, yet there was a little life in it, twitching into my touch. A low cough reminded me of what I was to do.

            Sweat-salt and heat filled my mouth as I sucked. Heat, not the cold winds of the storm. Heat, and more twitches as the flesh hardened. It was thick, good and thick, and the heavy full weight of the balls that brushed against my chin promised a reward for my efforts. We’d been on the march for far longer than a week, and Captain’s pace left little time for the comforts of shieldbrothers.

            The hands on my shoulders didn’t register as more than resting until the pressure increased. I followed their lead, yielding to where he would have me move, not quite understanding why. There might not have been a reason, other than to do it, which was reason enough to follow. I couldn’t help making a questioning sound, not completely muffled by the thick flesh, when those hands pulled me down, into a more awkward position. He tsked, untwining my arms from his hips to the floor.

            It wasn’t until his hands slid down my back, resting on my ass, that I realized what he’d done. Before, I was kneeling at his feet, facing both him and, indirectly, the rest of the band. Now our positions were reversed; the other men were behind me. I was also now on my hands and knees, my only contact with his body his cock in my mouth. I think I whimpered.

            “It’s not me they want to see,” he said, voice thick with accent and desire.

            A smattering of rough amusement; low chuckles, mostly.

            Warm hands parted my ass, exposing me. Understanding dawned even stronger, and my face burned. This time I know I whimpered, shivering with more than the touch of cool in the air. I could feel eyes on me, could picture exactly what I must look like.

            My own, neglected flesh stirred, the taste and scent and feel and knowledge blending into a low thrum of need. And again, the prickle of fear.

            I had no words, especially not my own.

            A damp, light touch – no doubt his finger, wetted in his mouth – traced the curve between the cheeks of my ass. I shuddered. It found and rubbed the entrance to my body. I moaned into the cock I still sucked, pleading with it, since I could not speak, for more. Maddeningly, the finger rubbed only enough to be felt, not even entering me.

            My moans, my increased attentions, made him swell more in my mouth, low groans peppered with words, not very coherent but I could read the praise in their tone. A few drops of salt-bitter, and the tightening of the hand still on, still spreading, my ass were the only warning signs before he came with a long, drawn-out curse. I swallowed desperately, eagerly. He shuddered under my tongue as I tried to coax more from his spent flesh.

            He left me there, panting, with the weight of hungry stares all around me, on me. And me, hungry as well, despite the taste he’d given me. My own cock throbbing, jealous of the release I had given him. I felt the warm touch of hands again, and shuddered.

 

 ***

 

            I don’t remember much of those two days, of which I regret greatly. What I do remember is disjointed, in pieces and fragments. No, it was three. Three days.

 

 ***

             I came too soon, that first day, that first time. The sweetness of the release, and the dark shame of it, burned through me like I was a candle. They made me beg, beg to be allowed to redeem myself, beg for my punishment. Punishment, they called it, hard flesh inside my ass, my mouth. And laughed as they used me.

            But this was warm laughter, rich and hot and sweet. I had taken their need and made it mine. My willingness was what I gave in return.

            Someone tied a bit of leather around my flesh when it grew again. The binding was a relief, and I flung myself into showing my gratitude for its assistance. It became a game, to see how far I would, could go, what I would do, what I would say.

            Hard, long and just a bit too thick pounding into my ass, and just as hard but far more thick in my mouth, steady trickling of come, dripping at the first swipe of my tongue, assuring a true flood at orgasm. Then wet and impossibly light on my own flesh; delicate, focused attention, like a cat. And I, I twisted like a cat into all three of them, wails escaping from my full mouth. Had it been free, I would have begged for  _anything_ other than that wonderfully teasing touch. Just as I pleaded for it never to end.

            But they were even more amateurs than I. The first two had found their pleasure, but the third did not seek his, seemingly content to slowly, terribly, torment me. They had learned not to heed my pleas – and so ignored my words, my warning, begging for help sounding too much like begging for release. The hasty knot slipped out and with one more teasing swipe at my swollen head I came with a sharp cry.

 

 ***

             I was fed by hand, like a pet. After enough teasing and pleading, I was allowed to have my pack. It was worth it, even beyond the begging, to get out the ring myself. There were things there I couldn’t explain, not with the few words I could use.

            Things I wouldn’t do without my word.

 

 ***

 

             The youngest man in the band was – I was pretty certain – a virgin. I took my time with him, ignoring the whistles and calls as I feasted on his skin. His cock was especially sweet, surprisingly long, filling to the very back of my throat. And his eyes shone like the sky the storm was keeping from us, after.

 

 ***

 

            They bundled me in furs and carried me from one tent to another. Four troop tents, the ignored commanders’ quarters, and the pavilion. All together or in smaller groups. The furs were exquisitely soft and lush. I still have some of them.

 

***

 

            The cleric of Kord was a large man, whose large hands trembled above my skin. He couldn’t ask, but I could give. I crawled into his lap – sideways – trapping my flesh between his thighs, thumbing off the ring in presumed defiance. And he did not disappoint, reddening my ass with those strong, terribly strong hands until I came against his skin. Then he sat me down on his proud, hard cock, lifting me up and down as if I weighed nothing, swallowing my cries of pained pleasure.

 

***

 

            Another fighter had a thick, wide belt. When it fell down to the ground, I rubbed my cheeks, my nose, along it, breathing in the warmth from his skin, the smell of leather. I couldn’t help but tremble as someone slipped it from the pile of clothes, snapping it casually against their leg. A belt – a belt was close. But it was at least one resting since we started. I could hear the whispers spring around me, like the rustling of leaves.

            He tilted my chin up with the leather; one of the wizards, the one who’d always stared after me after we fought, as if daring me to criticize his magic.  _Yes._ I kissed the belt, lowering my eyes to his feet. It cracked like thunder, and my tears fell like rain.

 

 ***

 

            I slept in the command tent, with Captain and the two lieutenants. I was not part of the band, an ally or minor partner of sorts, and as such had no place else. That first night I was bathed, carried, and settled down into my bedroll; no words, no requests, no orders spoken. I sat in the inky darkness, after my trance, listening to the only men who hadn’t touched me sleep. Had they been awake, I would have begged for them harder than I had for their men.

            The next night, over my protests, I was brought to the tent with the bucket of bathwater unused. Captain wasn’t there, but the lieutenants were. I stood, embarrassment a dull ache to accompany the others in my flesh – until the second lieutentant jerked my face up with a tug on my hair, and the first took my open, startled mouth with his own. He kissed me deeply, strongly, and the smirking face of the second lieutenant was the same expression as was on the men who’d just carried me in.

            There was a coil of rope beside the bedrolls. I shivered; the other men in the band had left me unbound, or held me down themselves. The second lieutenant’s features softened, anticipation making them more inviting, his eyes flitting from me to the first lieutenant, whom I could no longer see but could hear as the rope slithered about the tent. Had I permission to speak – outside of what I was allowed – I would have admitted to being impressed. Using rope without a solid structure showed great skill.

            The rope was silk-woven, strong but not scratchy. I was tied by my wrists and ankles, and the ropes were very secure. Of course I tested them; we all wanted me unable to move, and so we all needed to see it was so. I could barely squirm, let alone move seriously. That alone made me whimper in delicious helplessness.

            A light trace of fingers along my back made me sigh, unable not to squeak in surprise at a swath of warm wetness that followed. I flushed, at both sound and understanding. Some of the men wanted completion on, not in, me, and while the bulk had been rubbed off by other activities, or the brief cloth used to keep the furs clean, some must have remained. And the memory of bursts of hot seed, covering my skin, made me flush more, rich mingling of pride and shame.

            Those ropes were stretched taut at the first lap of that warm wetness down the curve of my ass. I cried out in surprise – and desire so intense it frightened me. The tongue – far too wet to be fingers, not with the shivery warmth of breath – licked at my well-used hole with an exact delicateness as I begged and screamed under its actions. He only laughed as I alternately cursed and pleaded, soft puffs of air making my already sensitive skin shiver.

            Whispered against my trembling, tormented ass, “I’ll take you when you’re hard.”

            The first lieutenant, then, whose mouth played with me, and the second whose legs I could see when my eyes had been open. My poor cock, though nowhere as used as the rest of me, dangled tired and soft between my legs. What he wanted was impossible.

            No, not impossible, I discovered, but so, so very slow. I swore I could feel every tiny bit of growth, every drop of blood flowing into my flesh. It was – yet wasn’t – agony. His tongue was fearless, tireless, slipping even inside me as I sobbed uncontrollably. A sudden burst of clarity hit me, as to just  _why_ I hadn’t been allowed to bathe properly, to why I’d been untouched the night before.

            I wailed when he stopped, begging loudly even as I heard the sounds of liquid on flesh. Surely I didn’t need  _more_ wetness, or I would have argued had I still my wits. And I wailed again as his hard cock finally, finally, took my very willing body. His strokes were slow, at first, then quickened as my ass clenched and grabbed at him, desperate for the size and thickness of him after the tease of only his tongue.

            The rustling of cloth and slap of flesh on flesh in front of me caught my attention, the tiny part of my mind  _not_ focused on getting quite thoroughly fucked. It was the second lieutenant, frantically jerking off just too far away to touch. My mouth watered. A new element entered my pleas – not just for one cock, but two, both.

            My time with the men had made me greedy.

            Hot and throbbing, less salty and more bitter; I devoured his cock, lashing it with my tongue as if to punish it for the tongue-torment  _I_ had earlier. He pulled my hair a little too roughly, so I risked a scrape of teeth, softened to a sweet under-the-head lick when his angry eyes met mine. His grip remained, but relaxed that little bit so that it was merely strong, commanding, rather than sharp. I sucked him a little harder, a bit more seriously, in gratitude, and his features melted into sweet, surprised pleasure.

            I moaned around the flesh in my mouth, as the flesh in my ass reamed me with bright hot desire. Which made the second lieutenant buck his hips into my mouth, quick shallow thrusts that made me twitch and wring internal muscles around the first lieutenant’s cock. A conduit for their pleasure, bringing them joy of each other, as I’d brought the men’s pleasure here for them. Like being used, only much, much better.

            They came within mere moments of each other, the first lieutenant’s shouts of completion blending into the second’s as both filled my body with their seed. I drank and arched and groaned, unsatisfied myself but proud beyond imaging at how well I’d done. It’s not just pleasing someone else, it’s  _being_ their pleasure. Soft, satiated flesh slipped away from me, the second lieutenant chuckling softly as I strained my neck for the last droplets from his cock.

            He untied my wrists, nudging me into moving. Behind me, the first lieutenant did the same to my ankles, pausing to run a damp cloth between my legs. Despite my need, I sighed; it was good to be taken care of. Together they laid me down on my back.

            The first lieutentant tapped the ring around my cock. “You can hold back when this is removed.”

            It wasn’t a question, yet it was. “A – a little,” I murmured, looking away from him. I had the ring because I  _wasn’t_ good at holding back.

            A strong hand brought our eyes together – the second lieutenant’s, since the first was closer to my feet. “Just a little,” the first coaxed.

            He had a deft hand with the ring, taking it off quick enough not to linger, yet not too fast to make me come immediately. The second lieutenant gave me – us – a warm, knowing glance as his hold on me gentled into a caress. I smiled, recognizing the look of longtime lovers, wondering how I’d ever missed it before.

            “May I?” the second lietenant asked, after a few moments had passed. For a brief second, I’d thought he meant me, before I saw the first lieutenant nod. I was still aroused, quite so, but not about to come at a touch as I had been.

            He bent his head – not for a kiss, as I guessed – tilting mine a little too far for our lips to meet. But his other hand in my hair answered the question I knew better than to ask, confirmed at the careful, warm swipe of his tongue on my ear. I whimpered, moving into the touch.

            It may always be the ears, yet it’s that way for a reason.

            “Pretty elf,” he murmured. His touch was perfect, enough to be felt, but not too much, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. I couldn’t come, not just from my ears, although there was a certain comfort, a certain enjoyment only felt there. He took my mouth, lazily, before tasting my other ear.

            Another sweet rich kiss before trailing lips down my cheek, my neck, my chest. Wet lick over my nipple, and I whined, forgetting myself to arch up into the touch. He pressed down with easy strength, reminding me not to move. Then he proceded to take his time, with tongue and mouth and breath, teasing my nipple into a hard, aching little point. I shuddered. This  _could_ make me come, and had in the past.

            Just the one nipple, and the rest of me not touched, except for the warning hand he’d used to stop me from moving. That, too, was removed. Faint edge of teeth, soothed by light suction, then a warm breath of air as I shivered and moaned. My eyes fluttered shut, trying to hold back. I hadn’t been told exactly what ‘a little’ meant to them.

            A pause, without any touch at all. I begged for him to return, to continue, anything, everything. The barest wisp of breath and his mouth descended on my other, neglected nipple. I cried out, stuttering brokenly as my cock throbbed, about to burst – only to groan long and deep as hot wet engulfed me. I collapsed, boneless, blinking dazed eyes to see the first lieutenant’s mouth on my spent flesh, his wonderful tongue laving it clean of every last drop of seed.

            “The storm will break soon,” he told me, as the second lieutenant rearranged the bedrolls into a nest. They settled, one on each side of me, faint trace of my own taste on his lips as he kissed me into trance. So not just one, but both, experienced with my kind.

            I ached the next morning while I waited, but with anticipation, not despair.

 

 ***

 

            Of the third day I remember the least.

            Word of the breaking storm travelled faster than the winds. I could feel it in the desperation of the hands, the flesh, the bodies that touched me. Yet in that desperation there was a stirring, a terrible, beautiful expectancy.

            What I do remember was a flurry of touch and sensation and hunger. I screamed, I begged, I cursed and praised and pleaded. I  _howled_. And though the winds had never ceased blowing, not at all, for that all-too-brief time, that night in that tent, a second stretched out for hours.

            The wind howled, but we – but  _I_ – were louder.

 

 ***

 

            And the next day we were the storm, bursting out from the valley in a whirlwind of metal and leather and death. We howled like wolves, wolves of winter, fierce and unstoppable. Every sword, every arrow, every spell hit true. None of us fell.

            Surrounded by men and bodies, I did not fight the joyous pull forward. Captain, covered in blood not his own, bared his teeth in a wolf’s grin. His men answered with their own, but I – I was, and was not, part of the band. I gave him my own smile.

            Captain’s mouth tasted of blood and victory and a relief that made me weak. Our armor scraped together roughly, harsh and grating, but we ignored it. At least, I did. He kissed me senseless, breathless, sightless, as the men howled around us.

            There was a whip that hung in his portion of the tent. I knew it would be down that night, that the lieutenants would sleep in the pavilion, obstensively to guard the celebration. That the restraint so long kept would be released, for us both. The only celebration I wanted would be in his hands, and it was the only way he could, would, offer his gratitude for what I had done. We both knew that I would leave the band when we returned with proof of the threat resolved.

            Thus passed the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> More back-story, more headcanon.
> 
> And no, I have no idea how or why there is an all-male (yet not sexist), all gay or bi-willing, adventuring group that Calavel (pardon the term) hooked up with in his past. Calevel's bi, too. Please forgive me my blantant slash/yaoi roots.
> 
> I do hope this stands as a story in its own right. I did have a friend who wasn't in the game read it and liked it, so here it is.


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